VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1: 

1836.

  ... a thundering Voice, 1800.]

[Variant 2: 

1820.

  A falling Water swoln with snows
  Thus spake to a poor Briar-rose, 1800.]

[Variant 3: 

1820.

  ... in this, our natal spot, 1800.]

[Variant 4: 

1815.

  ... wreath ... 1800.]

[Variant 5: 

1836.

  ...  Winter’s day, 1800.]

[Variant 6: 

1840.

  The stream came thundering down the dell
  And gallop’d loud and fast; 1800.

  The Torrent thundered down the dell
  With unabating haste; 1815.

  With aggravated haste; 1827.

  The Stream came thundering down the dell 1836.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A:  Compare ‘The Ancient Mariner’ (part I. stanza II.): 

  And now the Storm-blast came, and he
  Was tyrannous and strong.

Ed.]

[Footnote B:  Compare ‘A Farewell’, p. 325, l. 17.—­Ed.]

The spot referred to in this poem can be identified with perfect accuracy.  The Eglantine grew on the little brook that runs past two cottages (close to the path under Nab Scar), which have been built since the poet’s time, and are marked Brockstone on the Ordnance Map.

  “The plant itself of course has long disappeared:  but in following up
  the rill through the copse, above the cottages, I found an unusually
  large Eglantine, growing by the side of the stream.”

(Dr Cradock to the editor, in 1877.) It still grows luxuriantly there.

The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth’s Journal illustrates both this and the next poem: 

“Friday, 23rd April 1802.—­It being a beautiful morning, we set off at eleven o’clock, intending to stay out of doors all the morning.  We went towards Rydal, under Nab Scar.  The sun shone and we were lazy.  Coleridge pitched upon several places to sit down upon; but we could not be all of one mind respecting sun and shade, so we pushed on to the foot of the Scar.  It was very grand when we looked up, very stony; here and there a budding tree.  William observed that the umbrella Yew-tree that breasts the wind had lost its character as a tree, and had become like solid wood.  Coleridge and I pushed on before.  We left William sitting on the stones, feasting with silence, and I sat down upon a rocky seat, a couch it might be, under the Bower of William’s ‘Eglantine,’ ‘Andrew’s Broom.’  He was below us, and we could see him.  He came to us, and repeated his Poems, while we sat beside him.  We lingered long, looking into the vales; Ambleside Vale, with the copses, the village under